


Read my Mind (My Words are Failing Me)

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beta Derek Hale, Biting, Coming In Pants, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecure Derek Hale, Intimacy, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Making Out, Mind Reading, Mutual Pining, Rutting, Scenting, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: “Then, why?” Again, having Stiles touching him made him feel better, safer, like his words could actually work.“I could, hear, see almost, what they,” at the last word Stiles’ hands tightened and his body went rigid and his eyes turned cold again, “did to you. Derek, if anything, I don’t deserve you.”





	Read my Mind (My Words are Failing Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in March of 2017. Found in my WIP folder, cleaned up & posted. Will be backdated in a few weeks.

When Derek entered his employee number into the punch clock at half past four (almost an entire hour and  _ a half _ after his shift was supposed to end), he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Untying his green apron while he clicked his phone on, he couldn’t help but groan at the  _ list _ of notifications, all from Stiles Stilinski. 

With three snapchats and too many texts to count, Derek decided snap would be easier to go through. The first one was black ink and a tattoo needle, the second was Stiles’ face in obvious pain, tears waiting to be shed, and the third was a freshly covered black bandage over his ankle.  _ So another sigil _ , Derek muttered to himself. The texts, he found out, made much less sense.

**_2:05 p.m_** **_dude, deaton is gonna kill me_** ** _  
_****_2:06 p.m_** **_not actually but u know.. stiles=dead_** ** _  
_****_2:06 p.m_** **_im kidding - im just late_** ** _  
_****_3:11 p.m_** **_exciting fucking news_** ** _  
_****_3:12 p.m_** **_guess whos getting the coolest sigil EVER_** ** _  
_****_3:21 p.m_** **_wth dude its me duh!_** ** _  
_****_3:22 p.m_** **_i'm coming over after - be aware!_** ** _  
_****_3:23 p.m_** **_derek = mindBLOWN_** ** _  
_****_3:24 p.m_** **_this sigil is the BEST YET BRO_** ** _  
_****_3:54 p.m_** **_post sigil pain, i'm hurting, need derek_** ** _  
_****_4:01 p.m_** ****_dude wtf i know ur done work ANSWER_

This time, the noise Derek let out was closer to an agitated growl, but no one had to know that. He debated answering. Since he and Stiles had begun to talk to each—by talk, he really meant snarky insults that hopefully neither of them meant—Stiles had been stuck on getting his number. Why? Derek had no idea. Spending the majority of your late teen years mourning the death of your entire family will leave you a little...distant from the modern world. 

Hell, he only had a cell phone because Isaac and Scott insisted on the importance of one. Using reasons like “What if the scary lizard tries to kill us too?” and “The alpha pack could attack us anywhere and the rest of us would never know!” were very, very convincing points and Derek finally caved, buying the cheapest one he could. He only had a Data plan because he had made the mistake of allowing Stiles to come along and help him set up the plan. 

Texting was not Derek’s preferred form of communication. He found, though, that most people did not enjoy phone calls as much as he did, and so, he quickly typed back his response. **_Sorry, shift ran very late. On way home now, do not get there before me._** He was walking out of the break room as he hit send, giving a quick wave to his coworkers and breaking out into a light jog as he left the coffee shop. 

Running was...well, running was good. It had always been good, even before the fire. After he lost everyone, the only thing to do seemed to run. To run away, to run towards, to run  _ with _ his fears and regrets and mistakes. The things he couldn’t change even though he wished he could.

Since his pack started to rebuild itself he stopped running to get away, and instead started running to embrace, to change the things he could and accept those he couldn’t. Teenagers could be very inspiring, especially his pack. After all his alpha (and those words still tasted wrong in his mind) was basically an overexcited puppy dog. 

Derek didn’t realize where he was until he was unlocking his front door, thankful he lived so close to his work. It was hardly a twenty-minute run, and the route was so simple he often got lost in his thoughts. He dropped his bag to the floor, his phone on the island and headed straight to the shower. 

Soap always calmed him down and the one he used was a gift from Stiles last Christmas, a little after he started practicing with Deaton. It smelled of woods, but more specifically,  _ his _ woods. Stiles had somehow infused it with the forest from his old preserve, where his family used to own most of a forest. 

He was done in ten minutes and stayed in a towel while he cooked dinner. Being born into a werewolf family meant clothes were not a strict necessity, but more of a show for the outside world. When you could shift into a literal wolf clothes tended to rip and get ruined  _ very _ quickly. He only decided to put on clothes—briefs. better for running, and an old shirt that he had long since cut the sleeves off, leaving fairly large holes where they had been—when the bacon grease splattering against his core became annoying. 

Derek knew Stiles was outside only moments before he heard the lock on his front door flip unlocked, then the  _ other _ three locks and the inside chain do the same. Derek was still getting used to Stiles scent, not always being aware it was there. Sometimes it would sneak up on him, lavender and rosemary, though usually heavy on the rosemary. Bitter, but still somehow pleasant. 

Right now, it was all strawberries which Derek knew to be excitement. Lots of excitement from how strong it was. 

“You will  _ never _ believe what I can now d—” Stiles sputtered, a whirlwind of motion and sound as he entered Derek's apartment, hands flailing, bags and books being thrown all over the place. 

When Derek turned, it was to see Stiles standing perfectly still, mouth open and eyes staring. He breathed in and got the overpowering scent of...cumin. That was something he had never gotten from Stiles and he didn’t know what it meant. 

“Your face is red,” Derek said, pulling his eyebrows together to symbolize that he had actually asked a question, not just made a statement (because apparently, not everyone understood the way he spoke). 

“Yo—Pan-s? Ugh!” The noise the came from Stiles was one Derek didn’t think he would (or could) ever forget. It was deep and throaty and made Derek’s heart rate jump, his own ears turning red. It was only after Stiles pulled his eyes away from Derek that he spoke again. “Derek Hale. Put on pants. Now!”

The cumin was only getting stronger, literally seeping from Stiles in almost visible waves. He huffed, but he obeyed and returned to find Stiles leaning against the counter, eyes squeezed tight as he counted up to ten, again and again. The worst part? This wasn’t even unusual behaviour, Derek thought. 

Quietly, he grabbed more eggs and brought them to the pan, followed by onions, peppers and mushrooms. Using the same pan as the bacon just made the omelette taste so much better. He made enough for two, flipping it in half before cutting it down the middle. He grabbed two plates when he finished, clearing his throat and motioning towards the utensil cupboard to let Stiles know it was time to grab them both forks. He platted the eggs, pushing Stiles his and the stood, eating in relative silence.

Silence and Stiles did not go together. Ever. In fact, Derek was so conscious of it that it was all he could think of. How Stiles scented more like lavender than cumin, but with a bit of sage now. Embarrassment, weird. It was all Derek could do to not clear his throat again, or say something, after Stiles made a pointed effort to avoid all eye contact. 

Something also not like him. 

It wasn’t long before they had finished and Stiles put both plates into the dishwasher, grabbing himself water and coming over to Derek's side of the island so that he was standing both in the kitchen and living room. His apartment was technically a bachelor, although way larger that one would normally associate a bachelor with. It had been a three bedroom until Derek tore down all the walls and added a second washroom. He didn’t like rooms and preferred open spaces. Fewer shadows, fewer places to hide, fewer secrets. Also easier for a pack to hang out in. 

Open spaces just made more sense. His home had rooms, so many rooms. Too many places to disappear in. Too many hiding places to see it coming, The fire took everything from Derek, and it turns out it also took away his ability to live in a normal house.

“You sound...different?” Stiles muttered, tilting his head back and to the side as if he really was listening to something. His face contorted into concentration, his eyes fluttering shut as he held his breath, pushing his neck back even more, “You’re...oh  _ god _ ! _ ” _

Derek could see the blush that was again creeping up Stiles’ neck, starting from where his collar bones poked out from under his one v-neck, his flannel long since tied around his waist. However, Derek was too busy noticing Stiles  _ neck _ : the way it was just there, open, exposed, vulnerable. To anyone else an exposed neck would be no big deal, but to Derek, to any werewolf, it was so much more. Derek was also too busy trying to calm his heartbeat, which was currently going way too fast. 

Derek may have—and by may have he  _ did _ —growl low in his throat. He couldn’t help it; he saw something he  _ wanted _ , and it just happened, his body reacting in a way it never had before.

Stiles reeked of sage and was bright red staring at Derek in the most incredulous way, eyebrows higher than they should be and mouth slightly open. “Did I, were you, is someone...shit Derek. Who are you thinking about right now?”

_ Who _ ? What the hell did that mean? Derek was confused, his own brows lifting then curling forward in a question. He brought his eyebrows together and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing it out subconsciously. It was a defensive pose, meant to intimidate, and it nearly always worked. Derek knew what Stiles’ fear smelled like and it wasn’t cumin, so what was he currently feeling? “Uh what. No? I mean...uh, a friend,” was all he could get out. He looked anywhere but Stiles, refusing to look at his neck again which was no longer exposed and vulnerable. Just a neck, he had to keep telling himself that. Stiles’ neck. Annoying, irritating, magic using,  _ underage _ Stiles fucking Stilinski.

“Oh,” Stiles mouthed as no sound came it. Derek nearly missed it. “I’ll, uhm, just go then.” 

In three words Derek felt a knot of dark unfold in his chest. He went from embarrassingly aroused to  _ crushed _ in the amount of time it took him to process Stiles’ words. All he could think was stay but all he could do was knit his eyebrows together in frustration, his mouth tilting down against his will. Derek’s mind was, understandably, blank. All he could focus on was the  _ hurt _ , which was making his throat contract until he could hardly breathe. The only thing he could do was repeat  _ stay _ , over and over again in his mind, willing the words to reach Stiles. 

“Oh,” Stiles said, loud enough for Derek to hear. In response, Derek’s eyebrows formed a question, and he could smell...hope? It was radiating from Stiles, that and cumin. “I heard that.”

Derek’s face went from confused to more-confused-doubled-with-disbelief, because no, Stiles could not have heard him mentally pleading him to stay. 

“I could...ugh, this is harder than I thought!” The noise Stiles made was much more dignified than his previous. It was a deep, frustrated half growl that made Derek  _ really  _ want to hear it again soon, in a much different setting. “Dude, oh my  _ god shut up!” _ Stiles covered his ears with his hands, cumin returning to his scent with a vengeance, almost overpowering the scent of just Stiles. 

“I didn’t...” Derek began choking on his sentence because he was starting to figure it out—but, no, it couldn’t be. He watched as Stiles’ adam’s apple bobbed, clearly trying to swallow some sort of emotion. Fear, Derek could pick that one out easily enough, but still overpowered by cumin. 

Stiles took a cautious step forward, seeming unsure, leaving more than enough space that they were still far enough that they would have to reach a full arm's length to touch the other. Then Stiles did something Derek could not have ever prepared for. His mouth twitched up as if he wanted to smile but was telling himself not to, and he leaned his head back. He kept eye contact with Derek as he did so, revealing his neck in a way that was much more erotic than Derek wanted to admit. 

His eyes flicked from the nape of his neck, all the way up, staring at his adam’s apple, then immediately snapping back to make eye contact. He had to forcibly swallow the lump in his throat and breathe through his nose while he willed his heart to stop beating  _ so damn fast.  _

At this point, he didn’t need a mirror to know how red his ears would be. He could feel them burning and it was uncomfortable. But,  _ fuck _ , that was the hottest thing he had ever seen and he wanted to see Stiles do it  _ again _ , maybe even growl when he did. It was right after he thought this that Stiles threw his head back and  _ laughed _ . He laughed hard and full and gloriously, his whole body shaking and it was one of the purest sounds Derek had ever heard. Derek could feel his face relax, a smile creep onto his lips. He felt warm. Not embarrassment warm, but content. 

When Stiles finished laughing, they held eye contact for what felt like hours. Derek’s heart was still beating too fast, but it matched Stiles’ beat per beat. All he could do was stare. Stare, because he had never let himself do before, because Derek knew. He had known for a long time what would happen when he did. It was happening now, as a howl built in his throat that he had to keep down. Stiles was gorgeous, something Derek had always known, but only just now  _ knew _ . 

“Do you really...” Stiles began, fingers twitching in front of him in a way that made it look like he was trying to pluck the right words out of thin air. “Are you really...” Was all Stiles could get out. 

He sighed and looked he was going to try again, and Derek could smell the  _ want _ Stiles was trying to express. Fear, cumin, want, from weakest to strongest scent and in that order, and he still did not know what cumin was. Derek could only describe the look Stiles wore as pleading, begging almost. He motioned to the space between them, his hands flailing and looking ridiculous as he tried to express what he wanted.

Derek stepped closer.

Derek stepped again, because he did not do words,  _ could  _ not do words. The fire took them, Jessica took them after that. Words were intimate, and intimacy was death and heartache and  _ hurt _ . All he knew was Stiles was  _ raw _ , emotions were everywhere and conflicting and uneasy. Right now he was fear and he was  _ wanting _ , and now Derek was in Stiles’ personal space and he wouldn’t look at Derek in the eye, would only stare at his arms where they were still crossed over his chest. He dropped them to his side following a sigh, and the scent of Stiles’ anxiety hit him hard.

“What’s going on, Derek?” Breathless and anxious and hopeful. Stiles’ voice was so low if Derek had been human he would not have even heard the question. But he did hear the question, and that did not mean he had any sort of answer. Derek shook his head. He didn’t know and thinking about it led to too many painful possibilities and  _ this _ , this closeness was all Derek had wanted for a long time. 

“Me too,” Stiles breathed out, grabbing at Derek's hand, holding his last three fingers, because he never broke eye contact. Stiles went to move, but he tensed. He seemed to ask Derek without really asking. So Derek nodded, because  _ yes, come closer _ was currently the only thought he could make sense of. Stiles laughed, not a full body experience but a soft, content noise that made Derek shiver in the best possible way. Their toes were now nearly touching, and Stiles had intertwined their finger at some point, so now they were actually holding hands. Derek could smell how pleased Stiles was, could  _ feel _ his pulse racing at a dangerous speed. 

And then something settled in Derek and, “No,” Derek could  _ not _ do this. 

He pulled his hand back but was too scared to move away. Because this was Stiles, and Stiles was  _ Stiles _ and he was standing close enough that Derek could hear his heart, without his werewolf hearing, and he was Derek. He was trouble and he was pain and miscommunication and doubt and...just Derek. 

How the hell was he supposed to express that? “I’m not...” he tried, trailing off into nothing. 

And instead of using actual words as he had planned, Derek growled and let his eyes flash blue and he just, expressed it in a way that would only make sense to  _ himself _ . He was waiting for Stiles to step back, to leave, and sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Stiles’ hand fit back into his own, another tentatively brushing his cheek, asking permission. 

And okay, yes, touching was good. Derek immediately and without conscious thought pushed into Stiles’ hand, his whole body relaxing from that one touch. Somehow, the touch, well made it easier. Maybe it was Stiles just  _ being  _ there and maybe it was more, but Derek found his words. “You deserve, more. Better.” As he spoke he let his eyes fall closed so he couldn’t see Stiles’ face when he realized that he was right. Derek wasn’t good enough.

Stiles growled. An actual angry growl that again brought Derek’s mind to a specific place, causing his ears to burn and his heart to start beating  _ faster _ . “Look at me,” Stiles said and got  _ closer _ , so close Derek could suddenly feel Stiles’ breath hit his chin. Derek wasn’t sure if it was because of the closeness, or because the tone of his voice didn’t say it as a question, but he did. 

He opened his eyes and the air was taken from his lungs. And  _ whoa _ , Stiles’ eyes. It wasn’t the colour that made his breath jump out of his lungs. They were brown, big, beautiful yes, but brown. They were just so consuming, like Derek would always be okay as long as he could stare into them. His eyes didn’t rest and jumped to his nose, a scar that was only a few months old, a mole a little lower and to the left. His lips, because  _ Jesus his lips _ . They were soft and they were  _ so close _ and Derek took notice of them. He really took notice of them when Stiles’ tongue darted out between them, leaving them shiny with his saliva, which Derek could  _ smell _ , and it just smelt like Stiles and it was so, so right. 

When Derek realized he was staring he also realized his heart was beating so loud he was sure Stiles could hear it with just his human ears.

His eyes were just amazing. They were even better now because they glittered with embarrassment and so much hope that for a moment Derek was overwhelmed. But he also saw his face, saw the vulnerability his own eyes reflected, how  _ scared _ he looked. Stiles’ eyes held the secrets to  _ everything _ , but more importantly, they held hope. Hope for  _ Derek _ . But they were also vulnerable. 

They were searching Derek’s, trying to see as much as Derek was trying, and that was something new. Not with Jessica, never with Kate. Never with anyone. No one had tried to _know_ him. They accepted the surface version and never looked deeper, and here Stiles was, his hand still a warm steadiness on Derek’s face, his hand still in his own. 

That was when it happened. Stiles’ eyes hardened over, his jaw setting. That’s when it came back. The dark in the middle of his stomach unfolding, moving up into his throat. He let Stiles’ hand go, stepped back so he could try to breathe because somehow he had done it again. He had fucked up, the same way he ruins everything. He knew what was happening, it always happened. Stiles was going to leave, and Derek couldn't stop him. Derek wanted to throw up but more so he just wanted to be able to breathe because the darkness had already pressed his throat closed with pressure. 

“Wha—” Stiles began, reaching out and stopping himself before he actually touched Derek. The noise he made was  _ loss _ and  _ hurt _ and a noise Derek never wanted to hear again. Stiles’ eye glossed over, redness exploding in them and his scent turned  _ awful _ . It was muddy and dirty and  _ wrong _ , and so full of hurt Derek actually  _ felt _ it.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, without any noise coming out. He couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes because he knew what they would look like. He’d seen disgust before, and he couldn't see it on Stiles.

“No...WHAT?” Stiles yelped his voice confusion and hurt and exasperation. His arms flailed and he took half a step forward so Derek could feel his warmth again, but never actually touching Derek and instead making grabbing motions with his hands towards him. “You didn’t  _ do  _ anything!” 

And what? What did Stiles mean? Of course he did? Why else would Stiles have changed, why else would he got so  _ mad _ that Derek could smell nothing else, even if just for a moment? “But—but you, you just!” And Derek growled  _ again _ because words did not make sense when he used them. “Mad. You got mad,” Derek managed to say after several deep breaths.

That made Stiles stop moving. It made him stop breathing, and maybe even thinking, because normally he thought with his whole body and right now not even his fingers weren’t twitching at his side. He was like that for, well, for what felt like forever. Long enough that Derek had to close his eyes again because he didn’t want to see the  _ hurt _ that he’d caused in Stiles' eyes anymore, because watching tears fall from Stiles’ eyes broke his heart a little more each time it happened. 

When Stiles said his name it was raw and quiet and he hiccuped because he was  _ crying _ and Derek didn’t know what he did but he caused that and that truth made him shut his eyes tighter. When he felt skinny fingertips brush against his temples, down the sides of his face, over his lips—if only very briefly—he shivered almost painfully. When Stiles’ fingers stopped moving and stayed firmly planted on his cheeks, pinkys hooking under his chin, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. “Holy fuck Derek! Open your eyes.” 

Stiles wasn’t yelling, but it was the loudest thing that had been said since dinner and it shocked Derek enough to work. He didn’t want to see, wanted to pretend that Stiles’ eyes weren’t red because of him, his lips not puffy and swollen. He wanted to see Stiles earlier, hope for  _ them _ in his eyes before he had fucked it all up by just existing. 

What he saw was horrible and gut-wrenching but Stiles’ eyes were no longer mad, instead they had, no, they couldn’t. But yes, Derek blinked and they were hopeful again, something that surprised Derek breathless. The smell of loss was gone, now it Stiles, faint cumin, but it was  _ wasn't _ , it was  _ longing _ and it was strong. “You did  _ nothing _ wrong.” 

“Then, why?” Again, having Stiles touching him made him feel  _ better _ , safer, like his words could actually work.

“I could, hear, see almost, what they,” at the last word Stiles’ hands tightened and his body went rigid and his eyes turned cold again, “did to you. Derek, if anything, I don’t deserve  _ you _ .” 

And no. That couldn’t be right. Stiles was  _ Stiles _ only now even better and Derek was still only himself and how could he possibly be enough for someone like Stiles. And here Stiles was, flesh and blood Stiles, saying he  _ was  _ enough and no, he knew he wasn’t. But something in Stiles’ eyes changed again, something warmer, heavier. 

He took his hands from Derek’s face which left him feeling wrung out and empty in a way he didn’t know he still  _ could _ . But Stiles didn’t move. He didn’t step away, in fact he stepped  _ closer _ , until their chests were almost touching and their toes were. Stiles looked up again, begging permission with his eyes and Derek didn’t even know what for but nodded his head yes. 

Stiles took his hand and pulled it, placing it in the nook of his lower back. Derek could feel his warmth, the bottom of his belt brushing his pinky and he felt when Stiles shivered, pressing back into and Derek did not move, his body locked up because he could  _ feel _ Stiles. He could feel him in every part of himself with every cell and he didn’t even notice his other hand being moved until it was beside the other and Derek was now  _ holding _ Stiles. And Stiles was leaning back into it, trusting Derek to hold him there and just looking at him. Derek, however, couldn’t catch his breath after Stiles placed his hands palm open on Derek’s chest, moving them higher until his fingers were brushing the bottom of his throat, ghosting over his collarbones. 

When they made eye contact again it was easy. It was easy and it was  _ safe _ and Derek had never had safe before. “Can I kiss you?”

And Derek nodded, because, fuck obviously. But Stiles still waited, took his time moving his head up, standing taller because he was slightly shorter and Derek was okay with that, loved it actually. Stiles tasted like salt and Derek knew it was because he had been crying. He had been crying, but it wasn’t because of...Derek. It wasn't his fault and it wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t his fault. Because of this Derek pushed into the kiss, pushing their lips together with more force than he meant, but fuck, it felt good.

And when Stiles pulled back because he was smiling too much to kiss, Derek tightened his hold on Stiles, because holding Stiles just felt so, right. “I didn’t do anything?”

And instead of answering the question Stiles hooked his hand around Derek’s neck and  _ pulled _ his lips down, catching them with his own, and  _ fuck. _ Derek could feel his blood rushing away from his head and the smell of cumin was overpowering him and Derek was guessing at what it could mean and—yes. Cumin was attraction and he knew it when Stiles bumped into him, revealing that he was getting as much excitement from this as Derek was. And  _ holy fuck _ was all Derek could think when Stiles moved back to bite at his ear, whispering things he could hardly register because his  _ entire body _ was on fire and hot and burning and he had never felt this before. 

“Fuck Derek—” Stiles mostly breathed, again biting down on the top of his ear, “You can touch my ass.” 

That was a  _ whine _ and apparently Derek liked it when Stiles whined because he didn't even realize what he was doing until after Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist, literally  _ sitting _ in Derek's hands. The fact that he fit so perfectly into Derek’s hands was enough to bring a moan from his lip, pushing the noise into Stiles’ mouth after finding his lips again. Derek was so aware of everything he had to take inventory on the important parts. Stiles hands in his hair, nails digging into the back of his neck. Derek’s hands and how he could easily hold Stiles’ entire ass, and how Stiles’ heels were digging into his sides to hold on  _ tighter,  _ forcing them even closer. 

How Derek could feel Stiles hardness pushing into his own, felt them hitting against one another and every time  _ Stiles bucked his hips _ , how it felt as though he was going to die in the best way. How they had stopped kissing, were more breathing into one another, sharing so much, foreheads pressed against one another. 

Derek could not say  _ how  _ it happened, but suddenly Stiles’ head was thrown to the side and he was pushing Derek into it, giving him access,  _ exposing _ it to him. Then Derek was breathing, kissing,  _ scenting _ Stiles and suddenly he was on his knees, still supporting Stiles but everything was far away and all that mattered was that Stiles  _ smelt like him _ and then he couldn’t back out anymore and he howled into Stiles’ neck and Stiles also made noises of his own and then Derek could feel wetness soak into his shirt,  _ a lot _ of wetness and they were both shivering and breathing hard and Derek didn’t know what just happened.

Stiles loosened his legs around Derek, letting them drop to the floor, making a protesting whine like noises until Derek figured out to let go, move back, but  _ no _ don’t move back because suddenly Stiles was pulling him by the back of neck to the floor with him. And then Derek was sprawled over Stiles and Stiles had his face in Derek's neck and  _ oh my god _ , it felt good. 

Stiles was breathing and smelling and  _ biting _ , hard bites that left marks they both knew would heal within seconds but,  _ fuck _ . Derek couldn't help himself when he moaned, ground himself into Stiles so their hardness was  _ theirs _ , and  _ together _ , and Derek didn’t know where one of them began and the other ended. 

Then Stiles was doing what he could to hump against Derek, and the combined motions of the two, and Stiles biting down on Derek’s neck  _ and _ pulling at his hair while Derek pulled at Stiles’ was too much for either of them and they each exploded in noises lost within the other. And fuck, that was amazing and it was  _ unreal _ and Stiles smelled like Derek and Derek smelled like Stiles and they both shaking even more than before

They lived there for a long, long time before Derek was able to think again. The first thing he thought was Stiles, followed by  _ his _ so strong and loud in his mind that it scared him, but Stiles just laughed and that was when Derek remembered the sigil.

“Can you...read my mind?” he asked, and Stiles laughed even louder

“No! Deaton explained it like how you can tell how someone is feeling by their scent. Well for me it's not through scent, it's more like I  _ hear _ it,” Stiles explained into Derek’s shoulder. From under him. That’s when Derek tried to sit up, because large werewolf should not be on top of small human, but, the growl Stiles made left no question. He was not moving. He did, however, move enough that he could  _ look _ at Stiles, and when he did, just  _ fuck _ .

Stiles looked absolutely wrecked. His hair, not long enough to run his finger through, was a dishevelled mess and his lips were  _ swollen _ and his neck was basically a huge red bruise. His eyes were blown open and he was just staring  _ back _ , and all Derek could smell was contentment and safety, and, even though it scared him, home.

“I like that,” Sties purred, and okay growling _ and _ purring? It was really, very hot and Derek did not know what that meant about  _ him _ . “I should get going though. To my home. With my dad.”

To Derek, that sounded like the absolute  _ worst _ idea imaginable and he could tell Stiles felt the same way from the bitterness he could smell. 

“No.”

Stiles laughed at that, pushing Derek up enough to look at his whole face, “Oh shit,” Was all Stiles managed and Derek asked with his eyebrows, because even in Stiles’  _ arms _ he did not like words very much. “You just look, really fucking hot. Like, no. Not hot. You look beautiful.” 

All of Derek’s will could not keep the blush from forming and he had to  _ look away _ because the honestly in Stiles’ eyes hurt to look at. “No. Stay.” Stiles considered it, Derek could tell, but he could also tell that Stiles was going to say no, just by how his mouth twitched, “Please.” It came out softer than he meant to, weaker, more honest. 

Again, Stiles answered with a kiss. It was fast, lips against lips and it was all the answers Derek needed to stand up. He reached down for Stiles, who took his hand but Derek scooped him up wedding style, carrying him to the bed that was too the left of the living room. Derek let Stiles down long enough to take both their shirts off, undoing Stiles belt and Stiles undid Derek's, for no reason other than they  _ wanted _ to do it for the other. Derek’s briefs were a mess, completely soaked and Stiles boxers were no better. 

“Should we shower?” Stiles asked, and in reply, Derek flashed his eyes blue. “Okay, so no.” Stiles laughed, bringing his hand to Derek’s shoulder, running it down his side slowly,  _ feeling _ Derek in a way so different from earlier it was almost foreign. 

“What?” Derek muttered, not sure what to do with his own hands, especially now the  _ both _ of Stiles’ hands were fluttering over his body. He got onto the bed, sitting on his knees in front of Stiles

“I want to learn how your body  _ feels _ .” 

That was all it took. One simple sentence, and Derek’s heart felt so big that it ached. He knew, at that moment, that he would be safe with Stiles. Yes, they may hurt each other. They were both quick to anger and could be sharp with their words. Derek knew he was hard to be with, how he sometimes refused to talk, and he knew that Stiles was quick to argue, but...but he knew it would all be okay.

Because it was Stiles, and Stiles was safe and beautiful and wonderful and amazing and everything that Derek had ever wanted and so much more, and Stiles was  _ his _ . 

Stiles was his. And that was all that mattered. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> [my dreamwidth](https://lavenderlotion.dreamwidth.org/) and my [my tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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